I don’t nearly hold up to my old three posts a day and two on weekends schedule as much, sorry three readers.

Nowadays, pretty much the Inquisitr gets all my words, and often at the end of the day I have not a word to spare, not even to converse with my family, friends or the man who is ringing up my slurpee, for shame.

One reason I didn’t post for a bit, too, was that my kitten died. Her name was Delilah. She was 7 months old. She escaped out the front door or a window when I was showering and not ten minutes later, we found her dying in the street. We rushed her to the ER vet, on Election Day night, but they were unable to save her. I do like to think that when I picked her up and placed her in the red crate with a little blanket for transport that she could see me when she opened her eyes.

So why am I posting this? Because for some odd reason, Google searches in the Femme Dangereuse household that week skyrocketed around all manner of kitten death, cats getting hit by cars, whether cats should stay inside, and how long it would take to get over the death of a kitten. Getting a new cat didn’t help- she’s not my Delilah and I don’t like her as much. (My kids do.) But anyway, I just wanted my sad little post to come up for someone who may need to know that it’s okay to feel like a person died when your cat died. This is about as bitched up as I get, so cuddle up to this post when you need some love from me ’cause it’s all you’re getting, candy ass.

I always hated internet cat people. What a bunch of losers. I hate looking at pictures of peoples’ cats and I really don’t get the overall cat worship. But my kitten was special, damnit, and I’m not one of those people. All day long when I worked she would sit on my feet. She slept in my bed and brought me things and cried and didn’t eat when we went to Bird-in-Hand for two days. I hate that she was a special, smart and lovely cat and she only got to be here for seven months. She deserved a long life and because my stupid house doesn’t have one functional screen, she died.

I couldn’t break ground with my piddly little square shovel, and marauding dogs next door raised concerns about grave robbery. We buried Delilah at sea in my hometown of Babylon, by the pool:

And below, some of my favorite shots of Delilah, since she deserves a memorial:

Courtesy of Edgar Allan Poe, just because I’m in that kind of mood…

ANNABELLE LEE

Author: Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love -
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me
Yes! that was the reason
(as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we
Of many far wiser than we
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In the sepulcher there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

So, I moved to Newark.  It’s weird.  I actually seriously dig it here.  I loved and will always love Brooklyn, but Newark is like what I imagine Brooklyn used to be like.  Everything here seems so undiscovered and ignored and just waiting for a bunch of crazy kids to move in and repurpose it in some kind of DIY revolution.  My house is like that.

So I was excited to see this article linked and discussed everywhere this week.  Apparently Newark is turning around.  That would almost be too bad.  Newark’s got so much grit to it but it’s open and …clean in a way Brooklyn isn’t.  I’m 10 minutes from the Holland and 10 minutes from a Target and Wal-Mart in Union.  If Whitey McHipster came over from Brooklyn and priced my ass out I’d be so upset.  All the good ethnic places would be replaced with Tempo Prestos.  And I’d have to listen to douchey  conversations on the Path train.

Hipsters, stay back!

It must know me pretty well, because this is totally something I’d wear.  And after weeks of constantly infiltrating the sidebars of blogs I read with suggestions based on my browsing history, I’m sold on cherry aprons. I give in, okay? Send me two.

Something about naughtifying your standard bedtime tales is just very hot.  This collection of erotic fairytales speaks to the princess fantasies every girl has, and probably the dominatrix ones, too.  I want it for the subway.

It only took me like a week and a half to find a new job!  And it’s at a way more established company!  But I’ve been a little tired lately, so I’ve been quiet.

Slashers in the HP fandom, I’ve heard, have always vocally hoped someone, anyone in the HP books would be confirmed as gay.  We they got their wish this week when JKR confirmed what no one seemed to suspect.  Dumbledore was totally gay for Grindelwald!  Ha, ha.  So cool.  And fandom imploded.  And imploded again.  It even made Wikipedia.

I think now it’s safe for JKR to tell us what we already know- Harry and Draco were secretly in love with each other all those years and it’s bittersweet when they see each other with their kids and beards wives.  Harry/Draco OTP!

I have a massive passion for historical vice.  I must have seen everything in the Hardcore History series at least twice.  Something about the idea of a history uncovered by accident, not archived on purpose- it’s like a secret we’re sleuthy enough to find out.  Sin in the Second City: Madams, Ministers, Playboys, and the Battle for America’s Soul looks fascinating- a historical view of the battle between wealthy vice purveyors and puritans in one of the naughtiest eras in American history.  From BN.com:

Step into the perfumed parlors of the Everleigh Club, the most famous brothel in American history–and the catalyst for a culture war that rocked the nation. Operating in Chicago’s notorious Levee district at the dawn of the last century, the Club’s proprietors, two aristocratic sisters named Minna and Ada Everleigh, welcomed moguls and actors, senators and athletes, foreign dignitaries and literary icons, into their stately double mansion, where thirty stunning Everleigh “butterflies” awaited their arrival. Courtesans named Doll, Suzy Poon Tang, and Brick Top devoured raw meat to the delight of Prince Henry of Prussia and recited poetry for Theodore Dreiser. Whereas lesser madams pocketed most of a harlot’s earnings and kept a “whipper” on staff to mete out discipline, the Everleighs made sure their girls dined on gourmet food, were examined by an honest physician, and even tutored in the literature of Balzac…

Does anyone else wanna smack someone when they see that?  If you’ve borne a child at any point in your life, it should be illegal to call you a slacker, ever.  But lots of mommies still love their vices, as evidenced by this cute kids’ tee.

Via the snopes boards, an amazing story of girlpower.  And they escaped with their heads! Thanks, Jonny T!

Dammam, Asharq Al-Awsat- Members of Khobar’s Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice were the victims of an attack by two Saudi females, Asharq Al-Awsat can reveal.According to the head of the commission in Khobar, two girls pepper sprayed members of the commission after they had tried to offer them advice.

Girlfriends, when y’all get your driving rights please come over to the west and smoke a hookah with us.  The shisha’s on me!